Page 13 of Stalk

We have codes for every method of assassination for situations like this. We would never actuallysayhow we plan to kill someone over the phone. That’s a recipe for disaster, even on a secured line. O1 is code for killing by an unsuspected overdose. Easy enough for Helena, sadly. I am meeting with one of Catherine’s employees later to pick up the deadly dose of crystal meth that I will use to shoot her up.

“Good choice, Ren,” Catherine says with approval. “Estimated time entrance?”

Entrance.Also known as execution.

“Approximately seven thirty this evening.”

“Wonderful. As always, Ren, please call me when the assignment is completed. I will see you tomorrow at ten for our meeting.”

“Okay—”

And then she hangs up. I place my phone face down on the desk and turn my attention back to my computer where both feeds from the cameras inside of Helena’s apartment play the live feed.

I’m stunned when I see that Helena is not only awake, but she’s pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. She wrings her hands nervously as she walks the length of her living room, a deep frown etched into her face.What in the world is going on?

I sit there and sip my coffee while I watch as Helena restlessly moves around her apartment. Eventually, she goes into the kitchen and pours the last of a bottle of wine into a coffee mug with shaky hands. She chugs the contents of the mug in one go, then tosses the mug into the sink with aclink.My heart races when Helena throws her arms onto the counter and bangs her head against the hard surface. She slams her head several moretimes and then screams. When she straightens back up, she staggers, but I don’t fail to notice the wetness from tears that glisten on her cheeks.

Helena takes in a rough breath of air, and then crouches down and rummages for something in the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink. When she comes back up to a stand, a black trash bag is in her hands. The last couple of sips of my coffee sits abandoned in my mug as I stare at the screen in wonder.

First, Helena tosses all the empty bottles of wine and vodka into the bag. She goes back into the living room, and my jaw drops when I see her throw away her meth pipe, the rest of the empty liquor bottles, and the baggie with the small remnants of meth that Christopher brought over last night. After she’s through with the living room, she disappears into the hallway with the trash bag in tow and reappears minutes later. The bag is totally full, and it looks almost too heavy for her frail body to lift. Helena pauses by the couch and drops the bag down to the floor. She wipes her brow, then ties up the bag.

For a while, she just stares at it. Then, she drops to her knees, clasps her hands together, touches her forehead to her hands, and closes her eyes. It takes me a minute to understand that she’s praying. She’s…trying to get better.

My pulse skyrockets at my realization. This changes everything. My plan for tonight, for one. But now? Now it’s going to bemuchmore difficult to carry out this assignment. I had successfully detached myself as much as I could over the last two days from Helena—the thought of her sons losing their mother—her horrible addictions. But now… how thefuckam I going to kill her when she’s trying to get sober; trying to fight back?

CHAPTER 7

Mattia

Jet lag is a bitch, as always. And here I thought I was feeling fine after taking a nap on the flight here. Even with two cups of coffee and sleeping in a couple hours later than I normally would, I’m groggy as hell, and Marco isn’t much better. He’s usually quite chipper, but as we sit at a small table at the cafe just outside of our hotel for breakfast, he’s barely said a word.

The waitress comes back to us with our food, and I pray that getting some protein in my system will wake my ass up. I have an assassination to do tonight, and the last thing I need to be istired.

My mouth waters at the eggs Benedict that the waitress places in front of me. “More coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” I say with a slight groan.

The older woman smiles at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Be right back.”

“You are going to be so caffeinated later, you will not be able to think straight,” Marco comments with a snort.

I shrug my shoulders and yawn. “As long as I’m awake.”

Our waitress returns with a pot of liquid gold in her ring clad hand. “Are you two in town for business or pleasure?”

I was waiting for a question like that, and I can’t blame her, either. It’s apparent that Marco and I aren’t from here, given our thick Italian accents. “Pleasure.”

“Oh, how fun! How long are you here for?”

“Just for the week,” Marco says. “We are visiting a cousin.”

The waitress beams at us. “Well, you two have fun! Let me know if you need anything else.”

Once the waitress is gone, we dig into our food in silence. It’s fucking delicious, and the calories actually bring me back to life a little.

As we wait for our bill, Marco asks, “Ready for tonight?”

I laugh. “Not like I have much of a choice, yeah?”

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